


Virgil 'Pepper' Potts Doesn't Get Paid Enough For This Shit

by theappleppielifestyle



Series: We Will Both Show Up Remarkable [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:51:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Pepper tells Antonia that she's going to have to confront her feelings for Steph at some point, all he gets in return is a snort and the smirk Tony only uses when she's scared shitless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virgil 'Pepper' Potts Doesn't Get Paid Enough For This Shit

When Pepper tells Antonia that she's going to have to confront her feelings for Steph at some point, all he gets in return is a snort and the smirk Tony only uses when she's scared shitless. And god knows Tony has a couple dozen versions of the same smirk, but Pepper thinks he’s never going to get used to just how goddamn terrified she looks, underneath the glitz-and-glamour façade of pure bullshit that Pepper is all too familiar with.

Pepper bites down on a sigh so she won’t hear it, and tries to act as non-threatening as possible. Not making any sudden movements. Not raising his voice. Meeting her eyes, but not for too long.

Sometimes talking to Tony is like talking to a wounded animal as you slowly approach with one hand held out: one word out of place, one too-long moment of eye contact and she’s off like a shot, limping away as fast as she can.

Tony doesn’t even turn to face him, instead bending over the gauntlet she’s working on and continuing to press the soldiering iron into it. “Pepper, Pep, my sweet, naïve Pepper-pot, you greatly underestimate my powers of denial.”

Again, the grin, all flashy and fake, and Pepper has been seeing a lot less of that smile over the years. He hasn’t missed it.

When he looks at her, he tries to make his face completely devoid of pity. Irritation, Tony can handle, does handle, every single day. Being irritated with Tony is a big part of caring about her, and by now she’s come to expect it, even force it, Pepper knows. But pity is a whole other creature, one that Tony shies away from and shuts down in front of. One slip, Pepper knows, and Tony will put up an even sturdier mask and spit one-word answers until Pepper leaves.

“Tony,” Pepper says, in his best I-am-your-friend-and-care-about-your-wellbeing-would-you-please-stop-sabotaging-yourself-you-complete-moron voice, which he has to use more than he’d like, and waits until Tony squirms and looks at him. “I promise I’ll make this as painless as possible-”

Tony grumbles something, but Pepper talks over her: “You’re in love with Stephanie, you have been for years, and for god’s sake, you’re going to have to deal with it eventually.”

Like he knows she would, Tony stiffens, and her smile this time is even more forced than the last one, and Pepper can already tell this is going to be one of the lost battles. They have three years’ worth of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’-s, so Tony can’t pull that crap anymore. At this point, they’ve had enough screaming fights over Tony’s rock-hard denial for a lifetime, which leaves either stony silence or topic-switching.

This time, it looks like Tony’s going for silence. She’s tired of this, then. Pepper can see it in her face: it’s been a slow, uphill fight for Tony to admit to herself that she’s in love with Steph, let alone admit it to other people. For Tony, Pepper guesses, it’d be like admitting defeat.

When Tony finally opens her mouth after several minutes of trying to ignore the hell out of him, Pepper expects her to tell him to get out. What he actually gets is a flat, “Yeah, no, I can’t do this right now or ever, hopefully ever, I’m banking on never ever,” and flicking off the soldiering iron and pushing away from the table in one fluid motion.

Pepper watches as she makes for the door. “Where are you going?”

“I have a thing.”

“I control your schedule,” Pepper points out. “You don’t have anything until tomorrow.”

“I have a thing,” Tony insists. “It’s not my fault you’re an inadequate PA who doesn’t keep track of my meeting times.”

She’s going to regret that later. Pepper wouldn’t be surprised if he got up tomorrow and found a pony on his front porch, with a bow and a card that says ‘sorry.’ “Where are you going, Tony,” he tries again.

“Far away enough that it won’t matter that I refuse to confront my feelings,” Tony says. Then: “Hey, Briony,” as she walks past her through the doorway.

Briony leans to the side to let her through. She raises her eyebrows towards Pepper, having noticed Tony’s expression as she had passed. “Where’s she going?”

Pepper eyes Tony’s retreating back. He yells, “The MOON, from the sound of it,” and only just manages to catch Tony flipping him off before she vanishes up the stairs.

 

 

Because Pepper’s never liked Tony’s workshop- he likes it alright, but he’s never wanted to be down there for prolonged periods of time, it’s always too loud and strangely intimate, like he’s seeing the inside of Tony’s head- he goes back to his office after Tony leaves him there, and starts on the paperwork he’s been meaning to do.

He’s in the middle of signing off some button company when he hears the familiar heave of metal footsteps. He looks up, and there’s Tony, her faceplate over her face so he can’t see her expression. She clanks up to him, holds out her hand drops something down on his desk. Then she turns, making her way awkwardly out the door, since the Iron Babe suit was never meant for walking.

Pepper looks down at what she’s left. He picks it up, turning it around in his hands. It’s… a rock, about half the size of his fist. An off-white rock, sort of pebbly and brittle to the touch.

It takes a second for it to connect, at which point he fumbles at it, places it back down with infinite care, shoves his chair back and sprints to the door.

“You actually WENT TO THE MOON,” he screams down the hallway, ignoring the puzzled looks from everyone who isn’t Tony, who doesn’t even turn, just raises one metal-clad middle finger and keeps walking.

“Did it help,” Pepper yells after a moment.

Tony’s other middle finger raises in the air as she turns the corner.

 

 

 

 

For a while after the Avengers had moved into the Tower, Pepper had thought it was just Tony being an idiot with her feelings, which was nothing new. Tony had always had a thing for fixating on people and then bailing out when anything like emotions came into it, and Steph- well, Steph was undeniably gorgeous, and a teammate, which meant she was around Tony a lot.

When Pepper started to see something resembling friendship between them, it had raised his warning alarms higher than they already were. He had watched in the background for a bit, catching the glances Steph would aim at Tony, the heated ones and then, later, the soft ones, and watched as they missed the looks they gave each other from opposite ends of the couch.

For the most part, though, he had assumed they’d both get over it: close quarters, and all that. Cabin pressure. They were both beautiful women, and Pepper knew better than anyone how complicated a friendship with Tony was if there was lust in the mix.

He hadn’t understood, though. He hadn’t fully gotten it until one day, about a year after the Avengers moved in, he had gone down to the workshop to ask Tony to sign a form for what had to be the dozenth time this week, and had stopped halfway down the stairs.

Steph was playing with Dummy. She was laughing, Pepper could see the bunch of her cheeks as she rolls the ball back in her hand. She had thrown it, and it hit the wall and started bouncing back, slow enough that Dummy could follow it.

Pepper watched Steph’s mouth move in what sounded like encouragements from that side of the glass as Dummy chased the ball for a few seconds before reaching out and catching it out of midair. Steph clapped, outright grinning, crooning and congratulating, and even from there, Pepper could hear Dummy’s happy beeping as he returned the ball to Steph’s hand.

There had been a brief stroke to Dummy’s head, or what Pepper always assumed was his head, before Steph had thrown the ball again and Dummy had gone after it.

But it had been Tony’s face that had made Pepper decide to go back up into the lounge for a while: it was a look that Pepper had only seen her wear a few times before, in the fifteen years that he had known her. Her eyes were soft with something like awe, and then something more recognizable, like batshit fear, tightening the edges of her mouth. She looked lost, terrified, like she had no idea what the hell to do with this; a wrench clenched uselessly in one hand, her goggles pushed up into her hair as Steph ran a loving hand over Dummy’s supporting structure.

It was a very private look, and Pepper had made himself look away from it, unsure what to do otherwise.

In the following years, Pepper gets used to looking away from the two of them.


End file.
